Strength and Weakness
by lolberries
Summary: Sherlock ignores being unwell, and all John wants to do is help
1. Chapter 1

_Author Note: I'm not 100% sure which direction I want to take this story, so please review and let me know if you want me to continue. Thanks for reading!  
_-

"Sherlock! You alright in there?"

"Fine!" came the reply along with a hint of annoyance.

Sherlock was standing under the stream of water bursting from the shower nozzle, as he had been for a near half an hour. The water was hot, the pressure strong, as it pounded his back. His eyes remained closed despite John's vocal intrusion. His forehead gently connected with the cool tiles of the shower wall. And that's when he knew.

He cursed his body's continual weakness. He had been mentally fighting off a fever for hours now. But the touch of the tiles felt even more heavenly than they should; proving he had lost the battle.

Sherlock sighed; half with disappointment and half with the relief brought by the tiles against his head. At that point he decided on two things; he should get out of the shower, and he wouldn't let this or any illness prevent him from his work.

"For goodness sake Sherlock!" was the greeting he received upon entering the living room, "the heating bill is going to run me dry if you have any more showers that long."

A grunt in acknowledgement was all John got in reply, which he was in fact used to by now.

Sherlock nabbed John's laptop from the coffee table and began typing away furiously, researching points about the latest case.

However after not so long, the text became a little fuzzy. Sherlock blinked furiously, trying to revitalise his aching eyes. He rubbed his face a couple of times, his hands eventually resting against his temples, trying to massage them slightly.

Soon after this, Sherlock leapt up in anger, almost smashing John's laptop. When Sherlock's brain didn't behave exactly as he expected and demanded it to, he would go beyond having a pout.

As Sherlock stormed from the room, John rolled his eyes at the performance, dismissing it as the usual routine he was faced with most days.

Sherlock paced his room. His tight shirt felt like it was suffocating him. He was wearing too many clothes for the intense heat he was feeling. He paused, took a deep breath, running his hand down his face and decided that tea would fix all of the above.

John watched as Sherlock entered the kitchen; he looked somewhat sluggish. "Sherlock, are you al-"

"Fine." Came the sharp reply.

"I'd love some tea."

John couldn't hear Sherlock's mumbled reply to that, although he supposed he wasn't meant to. John smirked a little.

Sherlock brought over tea for the both of them.

While the temperature was cooling as autumn had arrived, it was certainly not cold. With this in mind, John was a tad confused as Sherlock hugged his mug close. However he dismissed it as Sherlock's eyes suggested he was in an entirely different world.

As afternoon approached its end, John was sitting in his chair checking through his blog. He heard a faint buzzing. Lifting his eyes, looking around and confirming it wasn't his pocket, he looked to Sherlock's phone as it lay wedged slightly between his flat body and the couch. John sighed, "Sherlock, pick up your bloody phone. I'm not getting up Sherlock. Sherlock!" John sighed again, more angrily this time, as he stood up and slipped out the phone from beneath Sherlock's body.

"John Watson speaking"

"John? It's Lestrade, tell Sherlock to come to the morgue, think we found our killer… although now we have to find his killer."

"Ok, we'll be there soon."

John nudged Sherlock, "Oi, wake up!" Sherlock only twitched slightly. John frowned, "Sherlock" John prodded him in the face. In one swift motion, Sherlock's hand whipped up to grab John's invasive finger.

"What?" Sherlock demanded.

John was a little taken aback, "Ah, Lestrade called. Can't believe you didn't wake up to it"

"What did he want?" Sherlock inquired, ignoring the second part of John's statement.

"Um, he wants us at the morgue." John gathered his thoughts back together, "Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"Hold still for a sec"

"What? What are you doing?"

John crouched down to Sherlock's sitting level, looked him in the eyes a placed a hand on Sherlock's forehead.

"Shit."

"Get off!" Sherlock swiped at John.

"Sherlock, you're burning up! For goodness sakes, go to bed, you can't go to the morgue."

"And what are you my mother?" Sherlock scoffed, "I'm going to the morgue, and whether or not you accompany me is entirely up to you."

"Sherlock, you are pale, sweating and feverish, I can tell your vision is blurring, and you would have been feeling like this for quite some time. You allowed yourself to get worse, and didn't bother mentioning anything to your colleague and doctor!"

"Friend" Sherlock replied weakly.

John smiled slightly, "Yes, friend. I can help Sherlock, it's not only my profession, but something I want to do as your friend. I don't understand why you always shut me out and pretend like you're fine. You're a genius, but still human, I can tell you that as a fact. Let me help. Ok, spiel done."

Sherlock listened to every word. Carefully he released his answer, "I need to see the body at the morgue, but I'll be quick. You should come."

John sighed, knowing he wouldn't get a better deal than that, "Ok, but you have some water before we go; you look dehydrated."


	2. Chapter 2

_Sorry it took a bit longer than I intended, been a busy couple of weeks! Will update again as soon as I can!_

* * *

Sherlock paid for the taxi as they got out; yet more uncharacteristic behaviour, John thought, though he didn't complain about this instance of it.

John watched Sherlock as he pulled his shoulders back and strode into the morgue, as though he were fine. It was a convincing act he put on; this helped John to forgive himself for not noticing his illness sooner.

"Ah Anderson, how kind of you to try and help by being here, however I can assure you you'll be more helpful anywhere else but here, thank you."

Anderson snarled and huffed his way out of the room.

"Lestrade, what have you done?"

Lestrade rolled his eyes, "Ha ha, very funny Sherlock, it was in fact not I that killed him." He paused, "the real question is, what have you done? You look white as a sheet!"

It was Sherlock's turn to roll the eyes, "I'm fine, let's concentrate on the case; I need details."

Lestrade left after he became tired of watching Sherlock inspect the body and telling everyone to shut up; leaving John and Sherlock alone in the morgue.

"We can go now you know? You've suitably told everyone how thick they are, and you've given Lestrade enough clues to work with."

John looked at Sherlock in dismay as he studied the eyelashes of the corpse.

"Come on, we need to get you home."

"'M fine," came the mumbled reply.

Sherlock often stretched the truth, especially if it was for the sake of the case, but as a wave of solid pain swept through his head, he let a groan slip between his lips.

His facial expressions screamed pain as he took a deep breath. John knew Sherlock couldn't last much longer. He, of course, was right. Sherlock let another wee groan slip as he collapsed to his knees.

John rushed to him, crouching down beside him.

"Alright?" John asked, knowing the answer was a definite no.

"Yeah. Just a bit tired."

John looked down at Sherlock concerned, as he remained in his kneeling position.

John shuffled around to Sherlock's side, where Sherlock leaned into John slightly.

John dared to hold Sherlock a little in his moment of exhaustion, feeling the intense heat through thick clothing. It was not a good sign. Sherlock's fever had obviously risen, to the point where Sherlock had become useless to anyone.

"Looks like we're done here," John murmured, more to himself.

All the way home, Sherlock was silent. This worried John incredibly.

Sherlock's eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing in particular out of the taxi window.

John's eyes were the opposite. Studying Sherlock's every move (not that there were many on the ride back to 221B); darting between the sheen of the sweat coating his forehead, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his breathing became more and more ragged.

Sherlock insisted that he could get himself inside, even while slowly climbing the stairs, struggling all the way. He was too damn proud, John thought.

Watching Sherlock endure the stairs, refusing help, made John realise that this would not be easy at all. While Sherlock was not himself at the moment, he was still able to grip on tightly to those independent traits.

Sherlock sat dramatically on the couch, about to flop over on his side to assume his normal position, but was prevented by a cool, but not cold hand.

"Ahhh, no." John pushed Sherlock back up to a sitting position.

Sherlock whimpered slightly. He was exhausted and he felt like his brain was on fire; in fact his whole body was cooking.

"I refuse to let you sleep here Sherlock, I'll help you get to bed, then I'll just need to check you over before you sleep."

"Don't be ridiculous" Sherlock croaked.

"Sherlock, you're really unwell. It could be something serious. It's just for my peace of mind ok?"

John started to pull Sherlock up off the couch, but Sherlock shook him off, determined to walk there himself.

"See John, there really is no need to worry."

Sherlock wobbled a bit, but managed to keep his balance. He looked as though he didn't notice this stumble. John was very concerned by this.

John followed behind, looking at Sherlock with sad and worried eyes. If only he would accept help. His words before they left for the morgue seemed forgotten.

As soon as Sherlock got to his room he shed his jacket and pulled at his shirt, throwing both on to the floor.

Hot, too hot; were his only racing thoughts.

John, seeing Sherlock was undressing, left to fetch his medical bag from his own room.

When John returned he expected to see Sherlock near unconscious in bed. He obviously expected too much. He reminded himself that this was not going to pleasant for either of them.

John heard the shower running.

"Sherlock? Please be quick, you can barely stand and I have no desire to come in there and rescue you from the shower."

Sherlock sighed as the freezing water ran down his body. He could've sworn the water was evaporating as it touching his scolding skin.

Just as he was starting to relax a bit under the water, he heard a whisper.

"Sherlock, hey, Sherlock, why haven't you caught me? Why aren't you clever enough to catch me?"

Sherlock looked up to the reflection in the glass shower door, seeing the face behind the whisper; Moriarty.


	3. Chapter 3

_Next chapter! Yay! The story will have an end, I promise. Will post again as soon as I can!_

* * *

John heard a bang.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, "shit."

"Sherlock? You alright in there?"

The next thing Sherlock knew he was leaning against the shower wall; head throbbing. He grunted quietly. He put a comforting hand up to his eye.

Yet another shout from John as he was trying to shower, except this time, John had a good reason to be worried. Sherlock felt a growing lump appear on the corner of his eye.

Reply; Sherlock's brain reminded him. "It's fine John."

John sighed, "Well hurry up anyway, I don't trust you to stay fine"

* * *

"What was that bang before, while you were in the shower?" John asked as Sherlock emerged, still slipping on a baggy t-shirt.

"Dunno," Sherlock replied unhelpfully. John noted the tiredness in his voice, along with the sick sounding crackle.

John soon discovered the answer to his question as Sherlock turned to face him. He had the beginnings of a black eye. John frowned, swore under his breath, and approached; his hand pausing above Sherlock's face, almost as though waiting for permission. But then he remembered that he was the doctor here, and could do whatever he liked. Brushing cool but soft fingers over the lump and bruising, John inspected the latest damage. Sherlock relaxed into his touch, so much so that he began to sway a little. John wasn't able to properly steady him again, so practically carried Sherlock to the bed.

The room was now spinning before Sherlock's eyes, he felt as though he were on a boat; rolling, up and down, over the waves. He could barely tell where he was. Until he heard John's voice; then it all snapped back to him, the haze started to clear.

"Hey, come on Sherlock, stay with me for a bit would you?"

Sherlock heaved his chest into taking a deep, congested breath.

"Sherlock, what did you do to your eye?"

The corner of his eye was starting to feel a little sore.

"Moriarty," He grumbled

"What? What are you talking about Sherlock? He's not here. How hard did you hit your head?"

"Not hard. Just a bump. Thought, I saw, Moriarty."

John dove into his medical bag which had been forgotten in the corner. He pulled a thermometer and attempted to put it in Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock sensed someone approaching as he lay clumsily on top of his duvet. He flipped his eyes open, saw what John was carrying, and gave him a glare that made John stop in his tracks.

"I need some water John," Sherlock's scratching throat mumbled out.

"If you let me take your temperature then I'll get you all the water you need."

Sherlock looked at the thermometer, "Never mind."

"Never mind what?"

"The water, I'll get some later."

"What? I said I'd get you some?"

"Yeah, after you stick that thing in my mouth, therefore I chose neither."

"For goodness sakes Sherlock, just let me help you." John was already worried, but the stress Sherlock was now causing, was not helping matters. John took a moment to breathe. Regaining his composure, he switched from caring friend, to army doctor.

"Right Sherlock, you no longer have any say."

Sherlock's already too-fast heart, starting beating that little bit harder. He felt the control slipping from him, which he did not like, but unfortunately this was John's territory now.

Sherlock tried to fight as a strong arm held him by the shoulder, but weakness overcame his body. He was definitely losing the battle. The haze was returning, and fast. His head was splitting, and at that moment, he gave in to John.

John was firmly holding Sherlock in place, so he could slip the thermometer in. When it beeped, John knew the numbers were going to be bad, yet the reading made him raise his eyebrows. He looked down at Sherlock who seemed to be in state of semi-consciousness. Just to make sure the results were correct; John put a hand to Sherlock's forehead. He pulled away rather swiftly, as his hand was scorched by Sherlock's burning skin. Being this close to Sherlock now, he felt the heat radiating from him.

"Sherlock, this is going to be cold," John informed as he reached for his stethoscope. John tried warming it, but he knew it wasn't going to help against Sherlock's fevered body. John took a moment to look at his young friend, lying, in pain, on top of the duvet. John hadn't realised how much he truly cared for the man until this moment. He hoped nothing ever happened to Sherlock that would take him away; including his current situation, which John suddenly switched back on to.

He heard Sherlock's heart pounding away under his sweaty chest, noting how hard it was having to work. He heard the congestion in his chest, which to be honest, was expected from the state of him.

Sherlock started to snore softly, probably the most peace he'd had all evening. John really didn't want to wake him, but he needed to give him some fever reducing tablets and make him more comfortable.

John shook him softly.

"Sherlock, come on mate, wake up." John paused when he heard Sherlock's breath hitch slightly.

Was Sherlock awake?

"Sherlock?"

John's face creased as he saw a few drips run down the small gap between Sherlock's face and the pillow. Sweat? Partially, but it they seemed to come from around his eyes. Tears?


	4. Chapter 4

_So sorry about how long it took, but here it is- the final chapter! Hope you enjoyed it!_

* * *

While Sherlock was hardly conscious, his mind was raging almost as much as the fever.

"You're so weak. You were never a challenge for me. Look at you now- reduced to this; lying helplessly with your sidekick having to force feed you!"

Moriarty taunted him.

"He's not my sidekick. He's my… my friend."

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't have friends. He pities you. So weak."

"No, I'm not weak."

"Oh careful their big fella, with comebacks like that, you might hurt my feelings. Though that would take some doing."

"I'm not."

Sherlock gasped when he realised. No not that. Not tears. Did he even know how to cry? Oh yes, that's right, he cried a lot when he was a child. It'd been so long.

Moriarty laughed, cackled even.

"What did I tell you? Weak!"

Sherlock questioned himself this time. Maybe he was weak. No, he refused. Sherlock Holmes was strong. He didn't need John, he didn't need anyone.

But he wanted John. No not like that. He actually quite liked John. And as resistant as he was to John's care, he didn't wish to be without it.

No, wait, what was he saying, he was strong! He could do everything by himself. People were just there to get in his way.

* * *

John was frantically trying to cool Sherlock down. His fever was bad, but the fact that he was thrashing around was also heating his body.

Putting cold cloths around Sherlock's neck and on his forehead, John was getting desperate. Sherlock was fighting hard, but he had to help him win.

John had decided that the tears were simply a physical reaction to the heat and pain Sherlock's body was experiencing, as the man himself was not even conscious.

"Come on Sherlock, stay strong for me."

* * *

To Sherlock's ears, those words sounded as though he were underwater.

Stay strong? Surely John knows he was never strong to begin with?

Here we go again, Sherlock thought. He tried to still his mind, stop it from arguing with itself. He had to be able to control it. His mind was his strength; one of his many.

Did he have weaknesses? The answer had to be yes. By default, humans cannot be strong in everything; there is no strength without weakness; there has to be comparison; one cannot exist without the other.

That was the logical truth. But it was turning that truth into an emotional one that Sherlock didn't like. Maybe that was a weakness. Yes. Good. No need to dwell on trivial ideas such as these.

Sherlock rolled over and opened his eyes a little. Everything was blurry. He could feel a hand on his shoulder, trying to roll him back over. After losing all sense of direction he could make out a John figure in his line of fuzzy vision. John's mouth was moving, but it was only deep monotone that could be heard. Sherlock swallowed experimentally, and blinked hard to try and clear his vision. It worked somewhat.

"John" was all he could manage.

"Hey there mate. Take it slow. Believe it or not you're in terribly bad shape."

Sherlock cleared his throat a little, "I'll be fine."

Sherlock wasn't sure how John would react to that statement. He wasn't sure why he said it himself. Was he showing his strength or weakness right now?

John's face remained soft, still covered with concern, but his mouth twitched to make a small smile.

"Drink some water."

Sherlock sipped at it and went to give it back when he caught John's 'finish it' look.

"While you're awake, let's give you a quick look over."

Sherlock groaned and tried to roll away but John caught him at the hip.

"Why are you so resistant to my help? Help is meant to be a good thing you know? It's utilising strengths that you don't have yourself- teamwork yeah?"

That word again. Strength. Sherlock didn't say anything as John pulled him into more of an elevated position. He avoided John's occasional glance, which worried John even more. John gently felt Sherlock's neck, noting that his glands were a little swollen, but not badly.

"Does it hurt anywhere especially?"

Sherlock didn't move for a while, but then without looking at John, pointed to his head.

John shifted his gaze between the pointed area and Sherlock's eyes. By the look of him, he had regained a lot of senses and his mind had obviously started to clear. John would check his temperature again once he was lying flat.

John's gentle hands moved to Sherlock's curl-covered head. He carefully searched Sherlock's head for anything physical.

"Headache then?"

Sherlock softly shook his head.

"No?" John was confused. He continued searching Sherlock's head, parting some of his hair to use his sight as well as touch.

"I, I can't find anything."

"It's on the inside."

John jumped a little as Sherlock spoke for the first time.

"The inside?"

Sherlock nodded. "It hurts and I don't know if it's good or bad."

That's when John lost all grip on his understanding of what Sherlock was telling him.

John pushed Sherlock back down into bed. Worriedly, he placed a hand on Sherlock's forehead. It was still too warm, but it had definitely come down in temperature.

"Maybe you should rest some more?"

At that, Sherlock sat bolt upright; "I'm not weak John!"

"Resting doesn't make you weak Sherlock, it makes you sensible! Though sense is definitely not one of your strengths there mate" John told him while pushing him back down again.

Sherlock kept mumbling his defence as he once again fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

Sherlock felt a lot better when he woke the next time. He faintly remembered John stroking and massaging his head as worked off the last of the fever. Sherlock was obviously looking a lot better too, as John come in with small smile.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Sherlock replied bluntly.

John sighed, "Saying you're not, doesn't make you weak you know? Because that's what that whole episode was about, wasn't it?"

"But I have weaknesses John."

John scoffed, "well of course you do. So does everyone else, and even though you don't like to associate yourself with them, you're still human just like them."

Sherlock decided to play the game this time. "Ok, I'm feeling pretty tired, and still a bit hot."

John put a cool hand to Sherlock's head for the umpteenth time. He was still a bit warm, but it was nothing compared to the dangerous heat he fought only hours ago.

John thought about using the 'you'll live' line, but decided to stay with compassion just because Sherlock had finally told him the truth.

"Sit up, you look a bit stiff, I'll give you a massage, then rest for a bit longer."

* * *

Sherlock melted into John's touch, and started to drift off, still undecided if he'd be weak or strong when he woke up. And which one, if either, were good or bad.

_END_


End file.
